I Must Go Further Back
by EJGryphon
Summary: "With such a confederacy against her - with a knowledge so intimate of his goodness - with a conviction of his fond attachment to herself, which at last, though long after it was observable to everybody else - burst on her - what could she do?" The story of the unfolding relationship between Marianne and Brandon, and the confederacy against her. ADVICE PLEASE!
1. Chapter 1

"I wonder what Elinor is doing this morning," Marianne murmured, looking out over the valley in which Barton Park was located. In the weeks following their wedding, Elinor and Edward were pleased to stay at the home of their dear friend, Colonel Brandon, while the three of them finalized the alterations and improvements to the parsonage. And, as they were loath to be without Elinor for long, at least half the time her mother and sisters attended them. Now that the parsonage was complete, the family stayed with the Ferrarses when in Delaford VIllage, but only for a week at a time, for Mrs Dashwood could not bear to trespass further on Edward's goodwill, for he still had to tend to his flock, even with a house full of guests.

"If _you_ lived at Delaford," her mother intoned from the corner of the parlour, "you could walk over and find out."

Marianne could not help but roll her eyes at the third time her mother had made such a statement this week. Mrs Dashwood - as well as everyone at the park and parsonage - was united against her in a plan to marry her to the Colonel. As for her, while she had every kind of respect for him as a friend and loving patron of her family, she did not feel within herself the passion that she felt, no, _knew_ , was necessary to form such a union.

"Say so one more time, Mama, and I shall be forced to join Margaret in the sitting room in her conjugations." Mrs Dashwood goodnaturedly shook her head and did not look up from her work.

Margaret paused her chanting to inquire, "Did someone say my name?"

"Go back to your work, child," her mother replied.

Marianne continued gazing out the window, listening to her sister's recitation and the crackling of the low fire in the hearth. Her own book was face-down in her lap where it had been for most of the last quarter of an hour; her tea was cold. A sigh escaped her. How dull Barton Cottage had become, without Elinor and without the attentions of the young man with whom Marianne had once been determined to share the rest of her life. As for herself, she had determined for a life of study and care of her mother and chaperoning of Margaret - not that their mother allowed the girl to go much farther than Barton Park, and Marianne could hardly bear the company that awaited them there. Every pleasure their home had once offered her had departed for happier days in matrimony.

Suddenly she snapped her book closed and set it aside. "All right, Mama. Write to the Colonel and tell him I will accept his proposal."

Mrs Dashwood dropped her needlework to her lap and Margaret stopped reciting.

"Well, go on - before I change my mind," Marianne insisted. Without a word, her mother ran from the room, her sewing frame crashing to the floor.

Colonel Brandon was reclining in the library of Delaford; outside his window he could just glimpse the little church where his friends the Ferrarses were no doubt preparing for afternoon prayers. Elinor had quite a bit of work to do in taking care of her husband and the parish, though she, of course, did not complain. In Edward, Brandon had found an equally good friend; he dearly loved their company, and was grateful that he was able to visit with them socially often and saw them each morning for services.

The book he happened to be reading was, in fact, on loan from Edward, a book he'd read in seminary at Oxford and which Brandon was enjoying. He looked forward to having them for dinner in the next few days and having the chance to talk about it with his friends.

A soft rap on the library door roused him from its pages. "Come in," he called. Rebecca entered with a letter on her silver tray.

"Message from Barton, sir," she said. "Thomas just come by with it."

A letter from the park, and thus from Sir John, Brandon's lifelong friend from the army, would be expected; a letter from the cottage - for Thomas was the manservant of the Dashwoods - was startling. "Thank you, Rebecca," he said, and she curtseyed and left. He opened the letter quickly, worried about what ill news might demand its sending; he saw the Dashwoods every other week and Elinor virtually every day, so there was no news he needed to know which he did not already receive in person.

His eyes swept swiftly through Mrs Dashwood's handwriting. His color drained and his hands trembled slightly; this was, most assuredly, _not_ a message he had anticipated.

"Rebecca!" he called down the corridor after her. The maid turned, surprised by the urgency in her master's voice. "Have Patrick saddle my horse."


	2. Chapter 2

Ever since Elinor and Edward's wedding, they had been installed at the mansion-house at Delaford as Colonel Brandon's guests; the Dashwoods, then, were also installed there. Fall was rolling in to Devonshire, keeping the household indoors, with Marianne nearly constantly at Brandon's pianoforte or his library, and when not, out for a long walk against her mother's wishes.

Thursday the weather changed and the autumn breeze turned warm. Sir John rode out to visit with his friend the Colonel and with his cousins. "Will you join us for dinner, John?" Brandon inquired.

"Yes, yes, thank you," John replied, with a tone in his voice that revealed that he'd come to Delaford for no other reason. "Let us take our meal on the patio, shall we, Brandon?"

Sir John, Mrs Dashwood, the Ferrarses, the Miss Dashwoods, and the Colonel had dinner then on the patio. When she could take no more of Sir John's chatter, Marianne stood.

"I believe I shall go out for a walk while the sun is out," she announced.

Sir John erupted from the far end of the patio: "Will you not allow Colonel Brandon to accompany you, Miss Dashwood?"

She stopped and turned to look at her cousin; she could not pretend not to see Brandon's face and she did so, and its look of irritation with his friend. She made a decision. "Indeed," she declared. "Will you not join me, Colonel?"

His look of pain switched instantly to one of confusion, yet he assented to her request and the two of them went out together. He let her choose the path through his lawn; they were silent together, but when they turned around a corner and out of the view of the rest of the party, Brandon could not help but notice how her carriage shifted.

"Are you quite well, Miss Dashwood?" He was very uncomfortable, alone with her and out of view of her mother, yet he could not help his curiosity.

"Sir John's raillery is quite tiresome," she replied, shortly.

"He does get carried away," he agreed, then: "We should not be so far from the others."

She smiled up at him, trying to be more friendly. "I want to show you something."

Despite his frequent glances back at the house, he could not help his curiosity and followed her around to the row of trees and shrubbery where Marianne began searching in earnest for something. He found himself unsure if he should pray for her to find whatever it was quickly so they could return to the view of the party or for her not to find it all so he could keep her all to himself for another moment.

"Aha! There he is!" she declared, pointing at the undergrowth, where a large, fat hedgehog was snuffling about.

Brandon was speechless. A hedgehog was the reason she'd brought him here to the far end of the house? "A personal friend of yours, Miss Dashwood?" he finally managed.

She grinned, and he was momentarily flooded with warmth. "He's been here for three days. I wonder if he'll spend the winter right here in your garden, Colonel."

"I do not know much about the habits of hedgehogs," he confessed, "But he does seem quite contented." Marianne, too, seemed content with his observation of the animal, and allowed him to guide her back to the main part of the lawn.

"I found the Hegel you and Edward mentioned yesterday," she offered as gravel and dry leaves crunched beneath their feet.

"Did you? How did you like it?"

"Very much so far, but it is slow to read."

"Perhaps you should speak with your brother about it," Brandon said.

"Dear Edward," she said, softly. "I fear he would not know how to begin, he is so tender of heart, so unlike my own brother John. I often cannot believe that _he_ and I could share a father."

"What was your father like?" Brandon asked, gently.

Marianne sighed softly at the thought of him and tried to collect her words. "He was very kind and always believed the very best of everyone he met." Brandon could hear the muted chatter of the others on the patio - especially Sir John - and the soft calls of birds in the trees as Marianne got quiet. "I believe he would have liked you, Colonel, though you are perhaps too sensible a man for his tastes. He always thought Elinor was a bit … serious. Adored Margaret; called her his baby until the day he died." She smiled again. "Rather liked hedgehogs."

Brandon gave her his hand as they went up the three stairs into the formal garden. "He sounds like a good man."

"He was," she said, wistfully. "He was everything good; how sad he would be to see how selfish his son has turned out. And you, Colonel? You seem quite alone here. What of your family?" She realized as she spoke that she knew quite a bit about his family despite herself, through the rumors and hints she knew of his past, and she regretted having spoken so lightly of them.

"There are some men, as you are aware, I know, Miss Dashwood, who take advantage of circumstance for their own aggrandizement, instead of discharging their duties to those trusting to their care - women and children." He shook his head, as if to clear old the old memories. "My father was one such man."

"I have … heard some of your story, Colonel," Marianne was ashamed to admit, for fear of embarrassing him, but also hopeful to be able to spare him pain from recounting details he needed not.

"Yes, of course," he remembered. "He sold my sister for a better trade relationship in Avignon, betrayed my cousin for her inheritance, and then died before he could see the ruin that action caused, thus believing his schemes to have been successful. Whatever sadness may have resulted from your father's shortcomings, it sounds to me as if there were not undertaken for malice."

"No," Marianne replied quickly, for it was true. "No, he always believed he was acting for good."

They walked on for several minutes in silence. "If I have upset you, Miss Dashwood -"

"Oh, no," she said. "No, Colonel, certainly not. I only did not want to press. What - how did it come to be that you are … different from him then?"

His grave face permitted the slightest semblance of a smile. "I was educated at home for the earliest part of my life, but attended a school in town as I got older. I'd like to think that this gave me the opportunity to develop differently once I no longer had my brother's boot in my back." Marianne could not help but think he meant it more than metaphorically. "It was close enough that I was able to return home often, and there begins the story with which you are already familiar."

"I'm sorry," was all she could think to say.

When they at last returned to the rest of the party, Margaret was all abuzz. "Have you heard that Sir John is going to host a ball at Barton on the full moon, Marianne?"

"I had not," she replied, curtly.

"We shall have to go," Margaret continued. "You too, Colonel, for Sir John says that every unmarried man in Devonshire will be there."

"I had not heard of this before either, Miss Margaret, certainly for the reason that Sir John knows I will not attend." Brandon shot a pointed look at his friend.

"Not attend!" Margaret repeated, looking scandalized. "But you must! There might be ever so many young men that only you can introduce me to, Colonel!"

Brandon smiled fondly at the girl, but remained steadfast. "I am quite sure there is no one of my acquaintance that would interest you, Miss Margaret."

Mrs Dashwood, who looked by turns amused and impatient with her youngest daughter, whispered the girl's name and took hold of her hand. Margaret ignored her. "Marianne will be there, won't you, Marianne?"

"I will not," Marianne replied, her glance darting between her sister and the Colonel. "I am quite content living my life at home, in study and care for my mother."

Margaret's jaw nearly dropped. "But if you don't go Mama will never let me! Marianne!"


	3. Chapter 3

Sir John MIddleton could hardly contain his surprise when Colonel Brandon's carriage pulled up in front of Barton Park the night of the ball, but it was tempered greatly when emerged from the carriage the Reverend Mr and Mrs Edward Ferrars. "My dears, my dears," he declared, "Welcome, welcome. And where's your patron? Where's Brandon, eh? Stayed home on a night like this, did he?"

"I am here, John," Brandon intoned, alighting from the carriage behind the Ferrarses.

"The Colonel was good enough to lend us the use of his carriage, Sir John, but we would not think to use it without him," Elinor explained in her usual calmness of manner.

"Brandon, dear Brandon," Sir John exclaimed, "and you will never imagine who's also joined us, but your sisters, Mrs Ferrars."

"We shall go and find them," said Edward, as he ushered his wife into the mansion-house.

"Better go find Miss Dashwood, Brandon, before the other young men swallow up every slot on her dance card."

"You know perfectly well, John, that I do not dance."

"Ah, you're lying," Sir John maintained. "For I've seen you, and quite good at it, too."

"Fifteen years ago," Brandon replied, unmoved, as he handed his coat and hat to the servant. "And more."

"Bah!" Sir John bellowed, practically shoving his friend into the parlour.

"Colonel Brandon!" Margaret called, running up to him. She was dressed in a pretty emerald frock, one he recognized as having belonged to Marianne not too long before. "I thought you said you wouldn't come!"

"Indeed, Miss Margaret, I am as surprised as you."

"Surely you know someone you can introduce me to. A young man or two, Colonel?"

He did pay her the courtesy of looking around the dancing room where they stood, but had to admit that there were very few people there of his acquaintance, and none of an age proper for Miss Margaret. "Oh, well, Colonel. If you should meet anyone new, be sure to come find me."

Brandon assured her that he would and she disappeared into the crowd. He found Marianne seated in a back room chatting with a neighbor and waited patiently for her to acknowledge him, and was surprised when she did so quite quickly. "Good evening, Colonel," she said.

The neighbor excused herself and the Colonel sat down beside her. "Miss Dashwood," he replied. "What has drawn the nun out of her convent this evening?"

She blushed and looked down at her lap. "I'm afraid I cannot say no to my little sister."

"She can be quite persuasive," he agreed. "But you are not dancing, Miss Dashwood."

"No," she said quickly. "I am only here for her."

"Then we are in precisely the same predicament," he replied, and they sat together in silence for several minutes.

As it happened, Elinor and Edward came by to break the reverie. "Will you not dance, Marianne?" Edward asked, surprised.

Elinor sat down beside Marianne, slightly flushed from having finished the cotillion, and fanned herself subtly.

"I think not," said Marianne, flatly.

"Oh, come, Marianne," Elinor urged. "Edward is quite far from exerted."

He took his wife's hint and held out his hand for his sister-in-law. Thus cornered, Marianne could not bring herself to say no, and the two of them were off. Elinor and the Colonel could just see them weaving in and out of their line of sight around the corner into the ballroom.

"I did not know Edward was a dancer," he said.

"Nor I," she replied, smiling. Just as she spoke, Edward seemed to trip or step on a lady's dress, and spent the next moments apologizing while the rest of the party swirled past him. Elinor could only laugh.

"Your sister is quite changed these last months, Mrs. Ferrars."

"Yes," Elinor agreed. "I worry about this melancholy of hers. Will she ever be the same?"

Brandon sighed softly. "I cannot tell you."

Margaret went by with a group of other girls, waving at her sister as she went; Elinor waved back and smiled happily at her companion as the music grew louder with a new dance. Brandon rose.

"May I get you a beverage, Mrs Ferrars?"

"Oh, yes, please, Colonel."

With that, he departed, leaving her to watch the dancers and hope for another glimpse of her family members. She was surprised by how long her sister and husband danced; they returned to her just as Brandon did with the wine.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Elinor remarked to Marianne.

"Tolerably," she replied, though it was clear that she had indeed enjoyed the chance to dance again. It had been many months since she'd been on a dance floor - indeed, the last time, she had humiliated herself quite thoroughly and had thought she'd never go back to it. Marianne was quite surprised that it had hurt her heart so little to do it - but she could say no to Edward no more than she could to Margaret.

Brandon offered her his glass of wine, as he had only brought enough for himself and Elinor, but Marianne declined with a smile.

"Have you seen Margaret? Should I go find her?" she asked her sister.

"She went past a few minutes ago. She's fine, dear."

The musicians shifted to a Corn Rigs tune, and Marianne could not help but turn toward it. Brandon noted that this had once been a favorite of hers; for an instant, a terrible instant, he considered asking her to dance. His face flushed with just the thought of it and he took a sip from his glass.

But where Brandon's wisdom held, Sir John broke through. "Come, Miss Dashwood!" Sir John's voice, seemingly out of nowhere. "Come have a dance with our Colonel!" John appeared out of the crowd, an empty wine glass in hand, gesturing cheerfully at his friend. "He's a fine dancer, Miss Dashwood, I assure you of that - though he'll tell you he's out of practice, you must not believe him. Come, come!"

Marianne looked aghast; Brandon tried only to pretend he was not burning to wrench John aside and demand his immediate silence.

"Sir John -" Elinor began, rising from her chair to defend Marianne, and Brandon too.

Though she glared at her cousin, Marianne said, "Yes, Colonel, I'd be very pleased."

He nearly choked on his wine. Dazed, Brandon offered Marianne his arm and led her to the dancefloor, feeling the eyes of all their acquaintances on his back.

The dance was old and known to him, though he had not lied when he'd said he was too out of practice to make much of an impression, at least not a good one. "Forgive me, Miss Dashwood," he muttered as he passed her under his arm with the first notes.

Marianne had skill enough to make up for his falters. "It's nothing," she said.

They were separated for some moments by a change in partners; she was passed to a gentleman she did not know and felt briefly sorry for the woman who received hers. Brandon was strong and in good condition, but he was too uncomfortable here to bring much pleasure to either one of them.

"To what do I owe this dance?" he finally asked her during the promenade portion..

She managed to shrug. "It is the last thing Sir John expected."

He couldn't help but laugh under his breath.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a fresh, cool morning; the leaves were falling softly in the breeze, and Marianne woke early for a walk before breakfast. Wrapped in her spencer coat and a hood, she felt impenetrable to the gathering autumn gloom. She'd resumed her habit of lonesome rambles which gave her time to think or pray or just be out of the watchful eye of her mother and sisters. Indeed, it seemed that every soul in Barton Parish was somehow invested in her goings-on - she could scarcely leave her bedroom without _someone_ asking where she was going or if she wanted company. Even the ball the night before could not really erase the feeling that she was, at every turn, failing to live up to the expectations of those around her.

She passed through the quiet valley and between the hills of Barton, out to the stream that trickled down between them, listening to the birds and the waking squirrels as dawn overtook the sky. When she reached as far as Barton went, before entering the lands beyond, she turned and headed home. No part of her need ever return to Allenham Estate.

At the cottage, her mother and sister were sitting down to table as she walked through the door. "Marianne, I thought you were still asleep after a late night at the park," her mother said.

"No," Marianne replied, removing her outerwear and hanging it on the hook by the door. "We were home quite early. We did not stay later than Elinor and Edward."

"That is right and proper," Mrs Dashwood said, approvingly. "Did they borrow the Colonel's carriage?"

"With the Colonel still in it!" Margaret declared. Their mother shot Marianne an inquiring gaze but did not comment further as he middle child sat down. "The party was everything of the finest. I met ever so many people."

"You barely spared a thought for your family," Marianne chided. "Edward shall think you do not love him any longer."

Margaret rolled her eyes and turned her attention to her plate.

"Was anyone else we know in attendance?"

"Practically everybody. Sir John invites anyone at all and the room was quite warm."

"Marianne, you are quite out of sorts. What has gotten into you?"

"Nothing at all, Mama." She took a bite of her breakfast and a sip of tea. The house creaked slightly as a gentle wind went past; a log snapped in the hearth.

"You should have seen Miss Weston's gown, Mama," Margaret said after a while.

"Oh?"

"Yes, and she did her hair herself, but it was so pretty. Did you see it, Marianne?"

"I did not."

Marianne wanted nothing _less_ than to think about the ball. In truth, a part of her had very much enjoyed being out and in society - had, in fact, enjoyed the dancing, even with the two partners who were more family than anything else. She sighed and looked past her sister and out the window.

"Dearest, are you quite all right?"

Mrs Dashwood worried constantly about her child; since Marianne's illness earlier in the year, it was really all she could think about. She longed for all of her children to be as well settled as her eldest - it seemed Margaret needed no help on that account - but about Marianne, she worried.

"Mama, please do not worry."

"It is my job to worry," Mrs Dashwood replied. "Come, my dear. DId you find _no_ pleasure at the park?"

Marianne said nothing but only looked quietly at her food, any appetite gone. She did not deserve a pleasant night.

At that moment, Margaret interjected, "Colonel Brandon looked quite handsome, didn't he, Marianne?"

"Did he?" she replied, avoiding the studied gaze of her mother.


	5. Chapter 5

Brandon spent his morning after prayers out in the woods; he'd taken his gun and a couple of dogs, but he had no intention of using either - it was only a pretense for an escape from the house and the servants' eyes. Certainly he'd grown up a gentleman's son and the constant presence of the help was nothing new - indeed, it would feel peculiar to be without an attendant or two, even when he was a lad at school - but as a man he often wanted nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts. That morning he'd had a letter from Miss Williams detailing the development of her infant son, and he knew that every member of his housestaff knew precisely her tragic story. While rumors abounded in Devonshire that Eliza was his natural daughter, his own staff - some of whom had served under his father and older brother - knew exactly who she was and were pleased to disseminate the truth when the occasion arose. They were not without value, of course, but he was a private man and, to the greatest extent possible, he desired to keep his thoughts to himself.

Cassie, his best pointer, couldn't seem to help herself from sniffing the ground and investigating every hedgehog and rabbit trail she came upon. She must have thought it strange indeed that they were out here together but not to work, and she whimpered slightly when he called her back from her pursuit.

Precisely six weeks had passed since the marriage of his friends Elinor and Edward and he was enormously grateful to have them; the arrival of the Dashwoods in Devonshire was, in short, the best thing that had happened to him in as long as he could remember. The happy union of his friend Elinor to a man he could also love and respect - a man as kind and as well educated as a gentleman like Brandon could want in a companion - was a great joy to him, but he also knew that the free hours they had together when not hosting her family in their small parsonage were precious, and he aimed not to interfere. He loved Eliza dearly, of course, but as a single man he had not been up to the task of raising her, a fact he regretted, for he blamed himself for her downfall. In any case, it was neither kind nor appropriate to invite her for a visit in Delaford as he had when she was a child, for she was a mother now and could no longer be introduced in good society besides. In short, Brandon was forever surrounded by people and yet forever alone.

Sir John tried to remedy that lamentable condition at every opportunity, as did Mrs Dashwood - another new friend who made his tenancy here on earth more tolerable, yet Brandon saw their machinations and attempted to outmaneuver them every chance he had. Since her recovery from illness, he'd been able to spend more time with Marianne, and had come to realize that she was quite as intelligent as she was beautiful, when she took care to moderate her passion enough to discuss literature and philosophy with Edward while Elinor sewed or drew and Brandon listened in silence. He was always sure that any book she mentioned was ordered for his library before the next time they met, and, when the Dashwoods dined at Delaford, there was always new music on the pianoforte, which he insisted she "borrow" to learn at home and perform for them the next time they met. As propriety permitted him to give her no gifts to express himself by, he settled for paying her the compliment of attention, as he had always done. When, on the occasions that Sir John's sheer persistence won out, he had Marianne to himself, he wondered if she noticed his interest.

He sat himself down on a favorite rock by the stream, a rock where he'd sat countless hundreds of times in his thirty-six years at Delaford, and wondered if the boy he'd been would recognize the man he was - a boy who had loved with such passion a girl whose chief attraction to him was her beauty and wild devotion to him, and a man who found himself so drawn to a woman who, he admitted, was just as lovely but infinitely more complex and absolutely indifferent to him.

No, this was unfair. Marianne Dashwood was not and had never been truly indifferent to him; not long ago she had openly mocked him, inspired by the cruelties of a man Brandon doubly hated. She now viewed him with benevolence, as a maiden might regard an elderly uncle. That she was aware of his feelings for her he knew must be true, for Sir John never was a subtle man and Mrs Jennings even less so, and Marianne was being kind by ignoring their implications, and kind by indulging him with her attention when warranted, if only to confound the constant chatter of those who loved Brandon more than they respected his privacy.

A duck flew up, flapping and quacking, from the stream, and Brandon instinctively raised his firearm - but then lowered it again. His heart was not in it.

Shooting a duck would not calm the thrill he'd gotten when Marianne had agreed to dance with him last night, and shooting a duck would not erase the embarrassment he'd felt at being so out of practice. John was right that in younger, livelier days, he'd enjoyed the dance floor, but such pursuits were for younger men, as was the art of lovemaking and worshipful glances at beautiful girls like Miss Dashwood. He was a fool and a damned fool at that, and he gathered the dogs and headed home to Delaford.


End file.
